


Where A Man Can Be King

by Lenore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Challenge Response, Coercion, Community: highwaymiles, Dubious Consent, M/M, POV Outsider, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-17
Updated: 2011-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-22 18:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: Dean has to get to *insert state* to meet Sam and kill an *insert demon* when the Impala breaks down in the middle of nowhere. The only garage in 200 miles doesn't take credit cards, and Dean's only currency is $2 in change and his 'pretty mouth'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where A Man Can Be King

**Author's Note:**

> I should tell you that I was reading _As Meat Loves Salt_ the whole time I was writing this (because [](http://pun.livejournal.com/profile)[**pun**](http://pun.livejournal.com/) told me to read it, and I listen to her). And I started to think: Hey, I should experiment with an unlikable narrator. So I did. And…well, it came out kind of…yeah. I feel like I should apologize, or get counseling, or something.

Wilbur Lucas' daddy lived his whole life in Bainbridge County, cradle to grave, and his daddy before him, and his daddy before that, on and on. As long as there had been a Bainbridge County, Lucases had been living in it. "This here is wide-open country where a man can be king," Wilbur's daddy used to tell him, "where you can spread out and put down roots and not have to answer to nobody." Wilbur always nodded and said, "Yes, sir." If he was of the opinion that there was so much breathing room in Bainbridge County because most people were smart enough to live elsewhere, he kept that to himself.

Not that it mattered much anyway. Family tradition was family tradition, and Wilbur grew up and stayed put right where he was, even if he could throw a rock pretty much anywhere in Bainbridge County without much chance of hitting anything interesting. Good thing he came from self-sufficient stock and knew how to make sport for himself; he kept busy with his hunting and fishing and his love of anything with an engine. He'd opened his own garage when he was barely twenty, the only place to get a tune up or a new transmission for a good two hundred miles.

For the last twenty years, Wilbur's Garage had done a brisk business, and Wilbur himself had found personal satisfaction training new mechanics, taking boys low on prospects in a town where more people were out of work than not, and passing along his passion for automotive repair. If he also happened to teach these boys a different kind of skill when he called them into his office and locked the door...well, being the boss did have its privileges.

The point was: Wilbur Lucas was a man who knew opportunity when he saw it and always made the most of it.

So his interest perked right up when the classic Impala came chugging into his garage, a sweet ride with an even sweeter piece of ass behind the wheel.

"Afternoon," the boy said as he climbed out of the car.

Wilbur nodded, giving the kid a narrow look. Outsiders took that for small town wariness, which suited Wilbur just fine. Any excuse to enjoy the view. The kid had a nice tight body and one hell of a pretty mouth.

"What can I do you for?" Wilbur asked him.

"Alternator light's been coming on. Can you check it out for me?"

The kid popped the hood, and Wilbur ran the diagnostic. "Yup. Gonna need a new one."

The boy ran a hand through his hair. "How fast can you fix it? I've got somewhere I really need to be."

Wilbur pursed his lips. "Well, the good news is we got the part in stock. If we put a rush on the job, I can have you out of here in an hour or two. But that'll cost you extra. We take Visa, Mastercard or cash, no Diner's Club or nothin' like that, and no personal checks."

The kid flashed a smile that would likely charm the god-fearing ladies down at the Pentecostal church right out of their unmentionables. "No problem." He handed over a credit card. "Whatever it costs."

Wilbur glanced down at the card. "Okay then, Mr. _Johnston_. He always had been quick to spot a con, being something of one himself, and he was pretty damned sure this kid's name wasn't no Jack Johnston. "We'll see what we can do about getting you on your way."

He took stock of his mechanics on duty, inventorying what they were working on. Darryl had a brake realignment that really couldn't be put off, and Carl was busy rebuilding a transmission, too skilled to spare for an alternator job. Wilbur's gaze settled at last on Kirk.

"Boy," he called out.

Kirk jumped like a nervous cat, and Wilbur motioned him over. Kirk hurried dutifully, almost tripping over his big feet. The kid was too tall for his own good, too skinny, all gangling legs and bony elbows. He was the kind who said "yes, sir" whenever Wilbur told him to pull down his pants and bend over the desk.

"Mr. Johnston here needs the alternator changed on his Impala, and he needs it done right quick. Everybody else has got their hands full. So I figure you and me can take care of it. It'll give you a chance to see how it's done."

Kirk's head bobbed in agreement.

"Go on and get the part, and I'll be right there."

Kirk scurried off, and "Jack" watched him go like he was wondering why the boy was so jumpy.

"Kid's only been with us a couple of months. Real eager to please." Wilbur put on a smile he'd been told had its own charm. "We're not too fancy around here, Mr. Johnston. Don't got no waiting area, but you're welcome to go sit in my office if you want."

"Thanks," Jack said, and Wilbur showed him back.

"Help yourself to coffee," Wilbur told him and left.

He lingered outside the door to listen, curious, and it wasn't no time before the boy had his cell phone out.

"Sam, I'm in...oh hell, I don't even know. Serious bumfuck. The Impala's alternator went. I found a garage, and it should be fixed in a couple of hours. I swear to God, if you've gone after this thing without me, I will kick your damned ass. Call me and let me know you haven't lost your freakin' mind, okay?"

He sounded worried like maybe this Sam was in some trouble. Then again, maybe they were both cons, and Jack was just worried his partner was moving on to the next mark without him. Wilbur grinned as he walked back out to the garage. He was right territorial about his marks, too.

Replacing the alternator went off smooth. They finished up in less than two hours. Even so, Jack kept coming out from the office to check up on them, pacing around the garage floor until Wilbur finally had to point out they worked better without an audience.

Once the job was done, Wilbur went back to the office to settle the bill. "I'll just write this up," he said, "and get you on your way."

Jack's cell phone rang, and he snapped it open. "Sam?"

The way his face lit up told Wilbur that's exactly who it was.

Jack glanced his direction. "Sorry. I've got to take this."

Wilbur nodded and went on writing out the invoice. The boy stepped outside, and Wilbur could still hear the conversation just fine.

"Where the hell have you been? Well, next time find someplace there _is_ signal. No, I was _not_ worried. Was not. Was—hey, I just get tired of having to save your ass, that's all." The boy took a deep breath, and his voice softened, "Look, I should be out of here in five minutes. So just sit tight, Sammy. I'll be there soon."

Wilbur smiled. He was getting the idea this Sammy was more than a business acquaintance, and that just might come in handy.

Jack breezed back into the office. "So, are we all set—"

He trailed off when he saw the stern expression Wilbur had put on.

"I'm afraid we got us a problem, son," Wilbur said, real deliberate-like.

The boy's face was all innocence. "Problem?"

Wilbur nodded. "Seems your card's been declined."

"Oh, well." The boy dug into his pocket for his wallet. "I've got other—"

"For being stolen," Wilbur added.

The boy froze, just for a split second, but long enough. "There's got to be some mistake."

"Yup," Wilbur told him. "And you're the one who's made it." He took a step toward him and meant it to look like a threat. "Unless you got five hundred bucks on you?"

He laid his hands on the boy like he was going to shake the money right out of him. The kid pushed him away, and Wilbur said in a low, serious voice, "Or should I just call the law?"

The boy went lax, and Wilbur yanked the wallet out of his pocket and went through it. "Two dollars and fifty-seven cents, huh?"

The boy's pretty mouth twisted into a smirk. "What? You're not going to count the book of stamps?"

"A comedian." Wilbur reached for the phone. "I'll bet the sheriff could use some entertainment."

"No!" The boy grabbed the receiver. "I'm sure we can work something out."

"Well—" Wilbur enjoyed this part so much, making a boy sweat. "I guess," he raised a hand, touched the boy's lips, "you do have something you can trade."

The boy's eyes went hard. "That'll even us up?"

"It'll be a start," Wilbur told him with a cagey smile.

The boy gave him a long, wary look, but clearly this was the best deal he was going to make. So he shrugged out of his jacket, laid it on the floor and got down on his knees.

"Get your shirt off," Wilbur told him.

The boy pulled it up over his head, and Wilbur had been right about him, fucking gorgeous body.

He gripped the boy's jaw, his thumb digging in hard, making the boy meet his eyes. "Suck me real nice, boy, or I can still call the law."

The boy got down to business. The practiced way he pulled Wilbur's coveralls open and took out his cock said he'd made this particular deal before. His hand didn't even tremble, which Wilbur kind of regretted. He liked it when they were scared shitless. The boy licked at Wilbur's cock, tricky little tongue, finding the sweet places. Wilbur let him go on like that, using that obscene mouth to get him good and hot. When he'd had his fun, he gripped the boy's head, pulling at his hair, fucking his mouth like he had a mind to choke him. This was always the best part, showing these boys just who was in charge.

This one, though, had a whore's talent for taking it. Wilbur came down his throat, and the kid just wiped his chin on his sleeve and casually got to his feet.

The door swung open before either of them had fixed their clothes, and Kirk came barging in, "Mr. Lucas, what should I do with—" He blushed violently when he saw what was going on and stammered "sorry" as he broke for the door.

Wilbur caught him by the arm. "No so fast, boy. Turns out it's your lucky day. Mr. _Johnston_ here has had a problem with his credit card, and he's working off his debt. You helped with the job, you deserve a pay day, too."

Kirk blinked at him, more startled than any actual deer Wilbur had ever had in his sights.

He smiled meanly. "Or do you not want your cock sucked?"

"Leave him alone," the other one said.

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. "You decide you'd rather go to jail? Leave that Sammy of yours waiting for you, high and dry?"

The boy's face darkened at the mention of his partner.

Wilbur laughed. "Well, if you want to get on back to sweet Sammy anytime soon, you best get busy on Kirk here."

The boy hesitated, more out of concern for Kirk than himself as far as Wilbur could tell. But finally he knelt down, no real choice. "You okay?" he asked, with an apologetic glance up at Kirk.

Kirk gave the briefest nod, and the boy opened his pants. Kirk was still soft, probably so scared he was about to pee himself. But the boy down on his knees clearly knew a thing or two about coaxing a reluctant dick. It wasn't no time before Kirk's little pecker was standing at attention, straining for more of that sweet mouth, Kirk making surprised little noises in the back of his throat.

Wilbur put a hand on himself, already getting hard again. He wondered if Kirk had even had his dick sucked before. The way he gaped at the boy doing the sucking had Wilbur guessing not, and it wasn't long at all before Kirk came.

Afterwards, he scrambled to get his pants zipped up. "I better get back to work."

"That all you got to say, boy?" Wilbur harangued him. "Your boss gives you a nice bonus, and you don't show no more appreciation than that?"

Kirk ducked his head. "Thanks, Mr. Lucas." He practically ran from the office.

"That's it," the other boy said, picking up his shirt from the floor. "We're even now."

"Oh, not just yet." Wilbur smirked. "You got me all hot and bothered again going down on Kirk like that. Your job to take care of it." He pushed the boy against his desk and breathed hotly against his ear, "You didn't really think you were getting out of here without giving up your ass, did you?"

"Anybody ever tell you you're a fucking pervert?" the boy said, trying to push Wilbur off.

Wilbur eased his grip. "Up to you. I can have Sheriff Callahan here in five minutes."

The boy took a long breath, but didn't say anything else.

Wilbur laughed. "Thought you'd see it my way."

He yanked the boy's jeans down over his hips, slicked up his cock with the grease he kept on his desk for that very purpose, and took the boy in one, deep thrust.

"Fuck," Wilbur muttered, because it was just that good, hot and tight, exactly the way he liked it.

He fucked the boy in short, sharp strokes, faced pressed against his neck, kissing and sucking. The boy smelled sweet and clean, the way boys always did, and Wilbur could never get enough of that, no matter how many of them he ever fucked.

He rubbed the boy's hip and reached around for his cock. Soft, and Wilbur started to stroke him, changed the angle of the fucking, until the boy let out an involuntary gasp, his dick starting to rise.

"Yeah, yeah, you like that," Wilbur muttered against his ear.

"Fuck you," the boy grated out, his voice strained despite himself.

Wilbur laughed. "Or maybe you just like it when Sammy does you?"

The boy twisted furiously beneath him. "Don't you fucking say his name!"

But Wilbur could feel him get harder in his hand.

"Oh, I think you like it," he said, and leaned even closer to whisper, "You can pretend it's Sammy fucking you if you want. I got nothin' against a whore I'm using getting off."

"Bite me," the kid spat out, and started to clench his ass, milking Wilbur's cock but good.

"You little shit!" Wilbur growled as he came in sudden spurts.

The kid pushed him off and pulled up his pants, grabbed his shirt and his jacket. "I want my keys. _Now_."

Wilbur handed them over, adjusted his coveralls. He couldn't honestly complain. The boy had been a hell of a lay, even if it had been over too soon. The boy strode quickly out to his car, and Wilbur followed at his own pace.

"Good doing business with you," Wilbur said as the kid climbed into his car, and he added with a smile, "'Course I did get the better end of the bargain."

A corner of the kid's mouth turned up. "You think? $500 in car repairs for something you usually just take for free."

All Wilbur could do was stare, and the kid didn't wait for an answer. He fired up the engine and left some rubber behind as he tore off. Wilbur wondered if he'd tell Sammy about it, how he'd put one over on the horny garage owner in bumfuck who had dick for brains. He wondered if they'd laugh about it together. The bile started to rise up in his throat the more he thought about it. Wilbur Lucas didn't stand for being no man's fool.

Lucky that Kirk happened over just at that moment and said in his halting way, "Um, Mr. Lucas? I don't understand. I thought you always checked up on the customers' credit cards before we did any work on the cars. Why didn't you do that this time?"

Wilbur turned to Kirk and smiled for all he was worth. "What makes you think I didn't?"

Kirk's eyes went wide, real fear in them, like he was only now realizing what he was up against.

Wilbur clapped him on the back. "Best get back to work, boy."

He headed to his office, whistling the whole way. It seemed his daddy had been right, after all. A man could be king in wide-open country like this.


End file.
